Broken Wings
by PeacockParadox
Summary: He forced her to taste Hell's flames as he took away her heartbeat. But what created the insane, chilling prowess of a redhead we all love to hate? This is Victoria's story. Rated M, just in case. One shot.


Author's Note: I own nothing, except who she used to be. I just want people to understand her.

* * *

_Blackbird fly into the light of the dark black night_

Faster, faster. MaryAnne Berg urged her nimble legs forward, wild red hair whipping through the air behind her, pushing her body away. Away from the house she deemed as her personal Hell on Earth, away from her father and the men that continually sexually abused her whenever they saw fit, even though she had done nothing to deserve such cruel treatment, away from her mother that smiled on such deeds as 'an act of God.' Away from it all. Somehow, she knew exactly when to escape the clutches of inhumanity. Thank God for three hour meetings about physically showing your faith in religion, in all ways, in every way.

Yes, let's all thank God, shall we?

The adrenaline continued to pump through her veins as she threw herself into a dark alleyway, landing with a loud crunch on her knees. MaryAnne felt nothing. She shoved her hands into the pocket of her flared jeans and withdrew a sharp blade, almost pausing to admire how the moonlight shined off it so beautifully. Almost, but not quite. Nothing would stop her tonight. She planned to take her life, and in such an easy way. All it would take? Two cuts. Two tiny gashes.

Without a second thought, or even so much as a wince, MaryAnne drew the knife across her wrists, eyes trained numbly on the pools of crimson that began to drip across her delicate skin. A sigh escaped her, as sweet release was oh so close to her anxiously awaiting grasp.

Slumping down onto the cool ground with an eerily serene look on her face, the corners of MaryAnne's lips curled up wistfully, and she waited patiently for death to come, for the darkness of the night to become the darkness of her life.

_You were only waiting for this moment to be free_

But she had never been that lucky.

As soon as she started to lose consciousness, a stinging slash cut into her right wrist, the first wrist she mutilated. Squeezing her eyes shut tighter, the broken girl refused to move at the pain. If she ignored it, perhaps death would come quickly. "You're going to live." a calm yet slightly edgy male voice stated quietly.

What? No no! Why?! That wasn't part of the plan, that was _never_ part of the plan! The tiny redhead gasped out as a fire started to work its way up her arm, every flutter of her heart seemed to only make the agony worse. "No!" she screamed into the otherwise silent night, her cries of agony echoing into the darkness.

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_

No what? No, she wouldn't live? Well of course she wouldn't, that much was brainless thinking. After all, you couldn't burn alive from the inside and hope to survive. Could you? Or was it no, she didn't want to survive? Yes, that had to be it.

And who was this man to decide who lived or died anyway? What gave him the right to pour gasoline into her very being, only to ignite it with the most painful match? Ah...God. That was the only logical answer. The same God that allowed her father and many others to degrade her body whenever they wanted. The same God that allowed it to happen to women everywhere. The same God that was punishing her now for trying to take her life.

For a brief moment, she reveled in the pain. MaryAnne hissed as she realized nothing the males of her father's 'cult' could even dream of doing to her would be this painful. How long was the sheer agony a part of her delicate frame? Days? Months? And then it started to fade, ever so slightly. Fade until it finally stopped.

She opened her eyes slowly, gasping softly at how detailed everything was. It was still darkness, but a much different pitch than the alleyway. The lack of light didn't matter, for she saw everything. For some reason, her body didn't move when a pale male with burgundy eyes and long brown hair walked into her line of sight.

"What's your name? I'm James." he asked her quietly. He seemed slightly off, anxious for her next move. But all she could think was 'What a common name for God to choose'. She recognized the voice instantly, but even her would be savior's words couldn't trigger a reaction at first. He was mesmerizing. So much so that even his plain features warmed her dormant heart. He was not God. God did not exist; this James was the closest she would ever get to Heaven. Before she could acknowledge the fire in her throat, the man dipped his head. "Your name, precious."

Her name?

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly_

MaryAnne Berg was no longer, nor would she ever be again. Not mentally or even physically. That name would forever be tainted with the past it belonged to; one this new woman had nothing to do with. "Victoria..." she purred in a velvet, childlike voice without a second thought. And there she was. New, different...better. Victoria was born the day MaryAnne got exactly what she wanted.

Death.


End file.
